


Cloven Hooves

by RedFlagsAndDiamonds



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Fluffy, Gen, Lots of baby goats, but kinda teary too, daddy's-little-girl moments, just making myself feel better about it all, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-30
Updated: 2013-04-30
Packaged: 2017-12-09 23:31:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/779229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedFlagsAndDiamonds/pseuds/RedFlagsAndDiamonds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU story set during episode 8, in which Gyda comes to understand the true meaning of sacrifice.</p>
<p>Because I couldn't just walk away after the finale - I COULDN'T.</p>
<p>Warnings for copious amounts of fluff (so sweet you could float a pancake in it) and baby goats.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cloven Hooves

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick ficlet in memory of poor, darling little Gyda.  
> We all love you, sweetie.  
> Also, because there simply weren’t enough father/daughter moments between Ragnar and Gyda in the show, and that kinda depressed me when I realized it – so this is a fix-it for that.  
> And lastly, just take this for what it is – an AU, make-myself-feel-better piece of fluff.

It was not that she didn’t understand the necessity of it. It was important to appease the gods.  
And yet, when her mother took her to the sacrificial pens to see the animals, she couldn’t bear the way the little lambs and calves stared up at her with their large, wondering eyes... The calves would low, their thin legs still unsteady as they wobbled about the enclosure, and the lambs almost seemed to be smiling, innocent and unknowing...  
Suddenly a soft bleat met her ear, and with a delighted, horrified gasp she spotted a little fawn-colored goat, pacing by the fence of the pen. Without thinking, Gyda knelt and slipped a hand through the slats to ruffle a soft ear, cooing gently.  
It nuzzled it’s little snout up against her palm, the tongue rough like sand...

*

When the Seidmann arrived at their encampment the next day, Gyda did her best to appear innocent. Braiding her hair by the cauldron seemed to work for a while, and yet once or twice she wondered if she could not feel the glare of the Seer’s empty eyes as he spoke to her father.  
After a short time he was gone, and the Earl seemed to be laughing silently to himself over some private joke.  
Gyda tried to pay no attention, and quietly slipped a few extra vegetables off her plate to hide in the folds of her smock.

*

She named him Meili, after the god, for his wild dashing and bouncing whenever she released him from the basket. His bleating could be heard even before she had removed the lid, and let him loose to run about for a little while and soothe his tired legs before she pulled him into her lap to feed him his dinner.  
Tonight, in honor of the festival, Mother had made a particularly rich stew with thick vegetables, and she couldn’t wait to give Meili the treat.  
He squirmed a bit, bleating loudly even while she shushed him and stroked his head, pushing the food towards his mouth. Eventually he sat still and ate with an apparent amount of relish, even nuzzling into her cheek when he was through. She giggled at the tickling, rubbing his neck – only to glance up and find her father leaning in the doorway, his face strangely compassionate.

*

Tears rained down her face as she carried Meili back to the goat pen, watched closely by her parents and the Seer. He bleated softly against her chest, wriggling, his little cloven hooves batting at the air...  
A hard sob escaped her chest as she leaned over the fence and placed him gently on the ground, watching with blurred eyes as he trotted over to the other little goats clumped in the corner of the pen – only to turn back to look at her, bleating, as if asking why she would not come along...

*

The high priest brought the knife down. Blood spurted over a fawn-colored pelt, and Gyda tearfully buried her face in the crook of her father’s arm.

*

The journey home was far more somber – no one had left the temple unmoved by the events. Her parents had lost a close friend, her brother a mentor, and Athelstan seemed to have lost his trust in any of them.  
Gyda supposed, on the whole, that her own loss was rather petty- and yet, she couldn’t halt the flood of tears that would come whenever she remembered the little goat twisting in her arms, nuzzling her neck...  
That night in the forest, she struggled to sleep as the others drank by the fire, pulling the furs to her chin and sniffling.  
A warmth at her back gave her start, until she recognized her father’s huge arms drawing her in close to his massive chest.  
“It’s alright, little bird,” he murmured into her honey-blond hair. “Remember, even Freyja wept for her husband, hm?”  
She nodded, her chin quivering, and burst into fresh sobs, her fingers curling into the wool of his tunic. He said nothing, but tucked her head under his chin, and held her until she cried herself into exhaustion and slept.

*

For the first time since her father was made the chieftain, Gyda found herself missing the toil of the farm – at least then it was possible to find distraction. Instead, she was obliged to sit for hours at her parents’ feet as they settled petty disputes among the villagers. It provided far too much time to think, she decided, playing miserably with her gold bracelets.  
At last the monotony ended, and with a heavy sigh she wandered over to the fire and began to tease her hair into a braid – before a hand petted her head gently, and she looked up into her father’s blue eyes.  
“Why don’t you go and feed the pigs, mouse?”  
She took a breath to protest, to ask why Bjorn couldn’t, but years of obedience kept her silent as she heaved up the huge bucket of meat slop with every reserve of her strength and hobbled towards the hog pen – only for a little bleat to reach her ear.  
Her face brightened with a delighted gasp, and the bucket was dropped to the floor, forgotten. Heedless of the straw and muck, she threw herself to her knees in the adjoining pen, and two little goats tottered into her arms from behind their mother– one the color of cream, the other covered in nut-brown smudges. They butted their small heads against her shoulders, both competing eagerly for a caress, and, giggling, Gyda threw a sweet smile over her shoulder. Her father only leaned upon his staff and smirked, eyes glittering.  
A soft ear brushed her nose, and a rough little tongue lapped at her cheek.

**Author's Note:**

> I know nothing at all about goats, and I’ll bet that it shows. ;)
> 
> Here’s my reference for the goats at the end - http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nNV_WbTuFmY/TV7DXotUliI/AAAAAAAAEGQ/3cB-AxJbQ7M/s1600/baby_goats.jpg


End file.
